


Circus Girl

by thousandmonkeys



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thousandmonkeys/pseuds/thousandmonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1860 Circus AU. Sasha is a carnie that shows little village boy Connie the wonders of the acrobatics and knife throwing. Springles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circus Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be mindless fluff, but the angst machine struck. This is a little old and my writing style changed, but I figure it's always best to have something to compare against.

The tent was packed, brown stands in start contrast to the riot of colours down in the ring, everybody in the village having turned up to watch the circus on its last day.

Ribbons trailed through the air behind the lithe brunette, as if tracing her path as she flew from the trapeze. Deftly dancing on the tightrope, matchstick arms turning, twirling, thin legs tiny under the ballooning skirt.

A flip, and the girl swung across the giant gap, drawing gasps from the crowd. A little boy stood on his tiptoes, peeking through his splayed fingers at the girl.

_Sa-_

She turned her head to him and smiled, a grin incongruous with her delicate frame. Round brown eyes widened as she saw the face of the bald boy, almost as if she recognized the townie. Her lips opened, a whisper.

_Connie?_

Nobody heard save the little boy; soft, plaintive voice lost in the roars of the crowd and the blaring trumpet.

For a moment, a heart-stopping moment, she looked as if she were doomed, ground rushing up to meet her. The distraction had thrown her off balance, and she was tumbling down, freefall, arms like a bird’s, stretched out beseechingly.

The little boy stretched a shaking arm out, tentative, unsure.

_Sasha!_

They had no need to fear; the little miss-she couldn’t be over the age of twelve summers- landed softly, falling into the waiting arms of the burly strongman below. The muscle-bound blonde smiled winningly at the crowd, teeth sparkling in the harsh light of the tent.

The crowd burst into applause, the seemingly calculated tension dissipating as the lass curtsied with smooth moment and fluttered off, back into the darkness of the backstage, out of sight and out of mind. She was just a carnie after all; more than one household would be locking up their chickens tonight.

A few other curiosities were put on display, but the main act was over. It couldn’t be more than a few minutes later when the ringmaster led the troupe into a bow, thanking the audience for their attendance.

Nobody noticed a small boy peering in between the gaps of the cramped crowd, desperately trying, and failing to catch a glimpse of that familiaryetnot girl, fingers scrabbling to just see, just **look-**

A hand fell heavily on the bald boy’s shoulder, pulling him away from the tent. Mr. Springer looked down at his young son and shook his head fondly. Ah, the beauty of young love. He stroked his son’s bald head fondly, pulling the boy closer to him.

“Now, lad, let me tell you about that acrobat I was with back in my youth…”

 

 --------------------------------------------- 

_What was that today?_

The darkness in her caravan was familiar, comforting. Ever since Mrs. Ophelia, the fire-eater, died last month, the ringmaster had yet to find a new roommate for her.

Stripping off the restrictive costume, Sasha engaged herself in the usual routine, seeking comfort in familiarity of undressing.

_Must be the new skirt. Carol’s obviously never been on a trapeze before, if she thinks large billowing skirts are good to swing around in. No wonder I fell! And ribbons!  
_

_Ribbons!_

Finally unhooking the last of the skirt, Sasha let the travesty fall to the wooden floor with an unceremonious crash, dusting her hands as if to rid herself of the stage clothing. She turned to face a mirror, examining the large bruise on her leg. It was purpling, barely hidden by the shorts, an ugly thing marring her skin.

Sasha prodded at the bruise and winced.

_It’s been a long time since I fell so far. Not since training I think, and even then Con-_

Brows furrowing, Sasha looked contemplatively at the bruise again, wondering where exactly were her thoughts heading to. Palm met forehead; wasn’t she too old for her Titan-slaying fantasies? 

She must be tired. Yeah, that was it. Too many nights up practicing, flying though the air, the movements so natural, so _right._ The fatigue was worth it though; up in the rafters, Sasha was free, flying no longer a little hint at the back of her mind.

Faster, faster, the trapeze would swing, land bound townies staring up at her, awestruck, envious; and Sasha flew, above it all. And sometimes she would hear somebody she once knew, a cheerful, youthful voice.

_“You ready for this?”_

And when she fell, landing softly on the hay:

“ _I’ll spank you for that later!”_

Sasha huffed, folding her arms and leaning against the wall of her little home, relishing in the creaking, a song only she knew. Too many stories of Wall from Nan Margaret as a child; God knew how many times she’d wished that she born then, if only to be able to soar like them.

_But really, who was he? I need to pay him back for distracting me._

Sasha let herself fall on the bed with a thump, rolling over to hug her growling stomach. Food was always short for her, _stupid_ townies with their _stupid_ smiles and full bellies.

So what if the carnies stole food sometimes? It was only right after all; they came to watch them dance, and where did they think the carnies would get their food from? It sure wasn't from the slim pickings the townies gave, even with Joshua picking their pockets like a maestro.

She groaned out loud. Ah, the ringmaster would have her _hide_ later, making such a fuss in the main act itself! Mind you, he was a fussy man, Ringmaster Keith- always so strict.

Cheeks puffing out in indignation, she pulled her threadbare blanket over her. Maybe if she was asleep, he wouldn’t bother her today; slim chance but a girl could hope right?

Footsteps outside. Soft, much softer than normal Normally Keith’s footfalls were harsh and clipped, setting the whole caravan creaking and shaking with the impact. A robber?

Well, whoever it was, he sure wasn’t having the bread she’d stolen earlier.  Picking up her little kitchen knife, she hid behind the door, body taut with anticipation. It’d been a while since she’d had to fight for her food, but lessons like _that_ you never forgot.

The door creaked open.

Sasha lunged, knife out to pin the intruder to a wall. Connie turned to face the oncoming threat, eyes wide. His bald head shone in the evening light, distorting the shadows in the room. Their eyes met.

Half-recognition flickered in Sasha’s eyes as she looked down at the boy who had fallen backwards in his haste to avoid being stabbed. Well, she snorted to herself, coincidences do happen. “Hey, you’re the boy that made me fall!” She put her hands on her hips, pointing at the boy with an accusing tone. “What are you doing here?”

 “Do you always greet people with knives?!” Connie’s voice wavered, eyes never leaving the blade still gripped in Sasha’s hand, surface catching the red light with a wicked glint. “I..I came to apologize damnit!”

Hand still shaking, he brought out a brown bag from his rucksack. Stooping cautiously, Sasha bent down to pick up the offering, sniffing at it suspiciously. Hmm, a familiar scent…

“It’s just potatoes from my father’s field that I roasted, so I’m sorry if it isn’t a very _good_ gift, but I don't really have anything else at home…” The boy stared down at his feet in apology, launching a staring contest with his tatty shoes. That was actually his dinner, but he could do without it if it meant he could talk to that girl.

A hand lightly touched his shoulder, hesitant, as if unused to human company. Looking up, he stared into the circus brat’s eyes, the hard slant from earlier gone. 

“You sure? It’s your dinner isn’t it?”

Sasha’s voice was reluctant, but she knew the edge of starvation like an old friend, and this boy’s face told a story of a deep, intimate friend ship with it. God forbid that she take food away from a kindred spirit.

Drawing one out, she offered it to the boy, potato steaming gently in her grasp.  His stomach made a grumbling sound, unbidden. Not to ask a second time, the boy accepted it, and made to leave, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Ah, right, I’m Connie.”

The reply was mumbled and rather distorted by the attempt to speak around the food, but somehow Connie knew what she said anyway, even before she said it.

“My name’s Sasha.”

Connie stilled, turning to look at her as his ears twitched. “Th-that’s a nice name.”

Swallowing the rest of her mouthful, she wiped her mouth with the edge of a tatty sleeve, smearing tiny flecks of food over her face. “Hey Connie,” she said, prompting the other boy to look up from his untouched meal, “You aren’t eating that?”

Connie answered that question by stuffing the whole potato in his mouth, hands clasping over it when the hot insides scalded his cheeks. Sasha laughed; somehow, she though she’d seen this before. She watched the boy attempt to chew while keeping his mouth closed, face scrunching up comically.

_Trust him. You can trust him Sasha._

Throwing an arm over his thin shoulders, she attempted to sound like her usual boisterous self, desperately trying to hide her shaking hands.

“Hey, Connie, want to see me tumble?”

 

 

 ---------------------------------------------

The circus tent was deserted. The stench of sweat and lions hung in the air, circus brats not yet chased by Nan Marge to clean away the grime. Connie looked down from the tightrope platform with awe, grabbing the wood and peering over the sides. The aged wood creaked threateningly, a plank wobbling, sending the boy scrabbling back from the edge.

“Whoa, this is…this is pretty high up, Sasha,” he yelled down at her, causing her to double over with laughter.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet!” Climbing the rungs with the deftness of a monkey, she swung her body over the edge of the platform, landing softly. The platform didn’t even creak and she smiled, confidence regained.

Hands reaching out for the trapeze, she took a running jump, dancing over the tightrope and soaring in the air to catch the bar. The acrobat swung around the tent, looping and soaring, legs clamped tight around the bar. She reached down to grab Connie’s hat, and laughed as he grabbed at her in good humor.

“Well, that sure is something!” laughed Connie, standing up and waving at her. She angled the trapeze back to land, gracefully landing with a bow as Connie moved back to allow her space.

Suddenly, Connie moved. He took a running jump, little boy arms stretched out to catch the bar, body moving as naturally as Sasha did. The thinness of his frame struck her as alien; empty air where there could’ve been, no, should’ve been, muscle.

“This isn’t so hard! In fact, it’s really fun!” Connie yelled, amber eyes sparkling at the waif, who stood there rooted to the spot. It was beautiful. Was this the sight the townies saw every time she danced? No wonder they kept coming back!

The old grandfather clock chimed, signaling the sun setting, plunging the tent into a twilight of red-grey hues and disorientating them. Sasha watched, wide-eyed and heart fluttering in fear as Connie fumbled on the switching, hands suddenly hesitant as if he had forgotten the grace of earlier. His hands gripped the bar tightly, face gone pale in the effort to keep his balance.

Without a care for safety, Sasha ran across the tightrope, memory carrying her forward. Her arms were wide, hands making a desperate scrabble to catch him. Their eyes met again, brown to brown, and they both saw something far older.

Connie regained his balance.

He moved, controlling the trapeze like a maestro, swing past and catching Sasha. For a moment, they flew together, hearts pressed against the other, the thumping synchronized. As one, they jumped down from trapeze, landing with all the grace of a cat upon the sawdust. Clouds of dirt flew up into the air, churned up by the sudden impact of two childish bodies.

Sasha knelt on the floor, her knees gone weak. She felt a hand, hesitant, scared, move up to touch her face, gathering her tears and wiping them away. She looked up into the startled face of her friend, profile blurred yet oh-so-familiar.

The tears weren’t stopping, and she didn’t want them to stop. It had been so long, so long since she was here. So many times...so many times since that day, when she knelt over him in that forest, blades prone by her side, the sounds of footsteps approaching.

She had held his limp hand then, head blank, eyes dry; stood up, swords shaking, metal rattling, the crimson of his life marking her shirt, her cloak, her cheeks, his red mixing with hers, slashing, wailing, falling, darkening, gone.

It’d been over a thousand years.

But all those times of solitude were gone. She was here, with him; her beloved Connie Springer: friend, brother, soldier, _lover_. Things weren’t the same, but it didn't matter. _He_ was here, and she was whole again.

Face buried in the rough cloth of his clothes (no rougher than Wall Maria’s hemp, she reminded herself), tears staining the brown, tracking it’s way down his front, even as he leaned his head on hers, small, unscarred hand caressing her fragile, bird-boned back 

_“I’ve wanted to see you again so badly, for so long!”_ she wailed.

_“I know. I remember.”_ he whispered _._

_“Everything?”_

_“Everything.”_

And all was right in the world again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~ As always, more fic can be found in serascribbles.tumblr.com


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